Five courses later, as I’m relishing birthday strawberry shortcake and bubbly sips of Cristal, Cavin says, “Okay. Time for your surprise.”
He produces a small box, wrapped in blue foil, with a gold bow twice the size of the package itself. I tease him by turning the gift over and over in my hands. “Pretty ribbon,” I comment.
“Open it!”
It’s obviously jewelry, but I don’t expect what I find inside. It’s a stunning pendant, in the shape of a snowflake. At every point is a diamond, .10-carat weight, and in the center is an exceptional fire opal, boasting brilliant ruby-red glints that somehow remind me of the sparklers Mel and I played with as kids on the Fourth of July. It’s obvious that Cavin put much thought into creating a unique piece.
So why is my first thought: What is this an apology for?
I sit, staring wordlessly, for a little too long.
“Don’t you like it? I had it designed especially for you. There’s not another like it, just like a real snowflake.”
“Oh, no. I love it! I just never . . .”
“What?”
Let’s give the straightforward approach, or some variation of it, a try. “Okay, this is stupid. But my first thought was what an amazing fire opal it was, and my second thought had to do with red sparks, and that brought my disturbed brain back to Independence Days in Idaho, some of which left very bad memories behind. Cavin, this is the most beautiful piece of jewelry anyone has ever given me, and the fact that you created it especially for me . . . Well, I’ll cherish it forever.”
His face illuminates. “I don’t think your brain is disturbed at all. Okay, well, maybe a little. Here. Let’s see how it looks on you.”
He comes over, lifts the pendant from the box, and slips it around my neck, which he brushes with Cristal-cooled lips before retreating back across the table.
“Beautiful,” he promises.
“The necklace, or me?”
“Both, and together, incomparable.”
I smile. “The last time someone used that word in relationship to me was to call me an incomparable bitch.”
“Jordan?”
“Finn. Right after he signed over the Russian Hill house.”
“Ah. And speaking of the place, I did manage to take those days off next week.”
I need someone in San Francisco to coordinate with the movers, and also to make sure Eli doesn’t decide to inhabit the house when he takes Kayla over the mountain to start college. I’d do it myself, but I’m supposed to meet with Maryann Colvin and the CEO of one of the nonprofits her foundation is involved with. “Oh, excellent. I didn’t really want to count on Charlie, not that he’s ever totally let me down.”
As boy Fridays go, Charlie was a godsend when I first ruined my knee, and I’ve tried to find ways to supplement his UCSF student income, even after my move to Tahoe. But he’s been awfully distracted since hooking up with Cassandra, who I’ve forgiven for telling him I sleep around. When I talked to her about it, she was completely contrite and chalked it up to alcohol.
“Oh, hey. Speaking of Charlie, strangely enough it seems he and Cassandra are getting serious, or at least semiserious.”
“Why is that strange?” Cavin asks.
“Gee, I don’t know. Um. She’s almost twice his age, and her son is only a few years younger than Charlie.” Taylor coincidentally being one of Eli’s peers makes the entire world—or my entire world, anyway—feel tiny, indeed.
“I guess it’s unusual but not exactly unheard of. If it makes them happy, why not?”
Good question. “You’re absolutely right.”
“So I’ll leave for San Francisco on Sunday and drive back on Tuesday.”
“And you’ll make sure Kayla’s all settled in before you go?”
“Absolutely. It’s going to be strange with her gone, don’t you think?”
“It will definitely be quieter.” Her quarreling with Eli has become tiresome, and their spats have grown more and more contentious as the countdown to the start of the new semester has moved closer. “I have no real idea how the two of them feel about each other, but it doesn’t seem like much love is involved, so I hope the distance gives them some clarity.”
“You mean you hope they move on.”
“Exactly. Truthfully, they don’t have much in common, other than a bad habit or two.”
“Plus a relative or two.”
“Yeah. Kind of hard to get around that.”
Paolo brings the bill. Cavin reaches into his pocket and extracts his wallet, and a piece of paper flutters onto the floor at my feet. I retrieve it and discover it’s a receipt from the Reno jewelry store where he bought my birthday present. As Cavin hands his credit card to Paolo, I casually peruse it. One custom opal/diamond pendant: $4,967.29, minus a $1,000 down payment, left a balance of roughly four grand. And that begs the question, where did the other $1,600 go?
Cavin reads my scowl correctly. “What’s wrong?”
I hand him the receipt. “I know I wasn’t supposed to see this, but I did. Just wondering about where the rest of the cash from that withdrawal went.”
“Oh. Of course. The Audi needed tires, and I figured while I was in Reno I might as well get them there. They’re a lot more expensive up here. And truthfully, while I waited for the car, I blew a couple hundred bucks in a casino. Nothing major, but I should have mentioned it to you.”
“The Audi needed tires already?” The car isn’t that old.
“Yes. Apparently I somehow managed to knock it out of alignment and they wore irregularly. I was noticing it in the way it handled.”
The answer came readily, but still, “So, why pay for tires with cash? Wouldn’t a credit card be easier?”
“I know it’s weird, but I prefer to use cash for major purchases. That way there’s no chance of them earning interest. And like I said, I wanted the necklace to be a surprise and thought cash was the best way to keep it on the down low.”
“Don’t you worry about carrying that much money on you?”
“I didn’t carry it very long.”
I could argue the advisability of that or the idea of using a debit card, though our bank does have strict daily limits on those. Instead I let it rest with a simple warning. “Please keep receipts for cash purchases more carefully, or we’ll have a bookkeeping nightmare come tax time.”
“I know I tend to be lazy that way, but cross my heart from here on out I will file them in better fashion. Okay? The last thing I want to do is make you question my trustworthiness, which is why I mentioned the casino.”
His gambling is a bad habit but doesn’t seem to be too out of hand, and I’m monitoring it cautiously. If I have to, I’ll give him a monthly you-may-blow-this-much-without-penalty allowance, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. I am not his mother. “I appreciate that, and so will my accountant. Our accountant, if you want him to be.”
“As far as taxes, I think it makes the most sense to file jointly, but I’ll leave that up to you—and our accountant. I’m not married to the one I’ve been using.”
“Good. Brent is excellent at what he does. He did contact me about the Russian Hill sale and suggested I max contributions to the IRS to help cover the capital gains. I’ll let him know we’re good with that and ask his opinion on our filing status.”
The tedious details of marriage.
“That’s fine with me.”
“Oh, and I believe you can deduct gambling losses.”
“You can, but only up to the amount you win in any given year, and the IRS requires you to keep a diary documenting your losses.”
Is it good or bad that he knows this?
“Do casinos report your winnings?” I ask, because it strikes me that I had a decent win at Tahoe last year and didn’t claim it on my tax return. Though, considering I dropped almost the entire amount before I won it back, I pretty much broke even. I’m what you might call a casual gambler, so how would I know?
“Depends on what you’re pl
aying and how much you clear. In certain circumstances, they actually withhold twenty-five percent and make you fill out a W2g form before the payout. But not on table games, except for poker, which believe it or not has a higher threshold than slots, sports betting, or bingo before they report.”
Guess I’m safe then. I was playing roulette.
“Have you had any major wins this year?” We met last December but spent a lot of time apart before we got married. I have no idea how often he frequented casinos.
“A couple, including the money I won on our honeymoon.”
Yes, after dropping two grand, he managed to earn twenty-five hundred back. So, how do they look at that? Five hundred net or twenty-five gross, despite the initial investment? Considering how many years I lived in Nevada, I have no real understanding of how the system works. I rarely gambled, and always thought of it as a game.
Apparently, it’s a business, as sanctioned by the Internal Revenue Service.
“So, you report all your gambling income?”
“Tara, I told you before that I once faced an audit and came away owing a substantial amount. I won’t take that chance again, especially not now, with you in my life. Recklessness and partnerships are mutually exclusive.”
One would hope so.
One certainly would.
twenty-four
W HEN MEL ARRIVES ON Friday afternoon, she breezes through the door in a formfitting leopard-print dress that is by far the shortest thing I’ve ever seen her in, and she looks damn good in it, too. Envy pokes at me. I’ll have to pick up my workouts.
Ridiculous. Am I competing with my sister now?
Maybe she’s competing with you.
I shut down the interior dialogue and ask, “Since when did you start wearing dead animals?”
“Faux dead animals, and why not? It was on sale. Don’t you like it?”
“I do. It’s just so . . . not what I would expect of you.”
“Good. I’m tired of being predictable.” She brushes past me. “So I’m here. What time are we leaving?”
“I made reservations at the Sage Room for six o’clock.” It’s our favored Stateline restaurant and just happens to be housed in the same casino where Ricky Martin is appearing. “That should give us plenty of time. The show doesn’t start until eight.”
Mel gives me a glancing once-over. “You’re not going like that, are you?”
That makes me laugh. “Uh, generally I don’t go out on the town in a T-shirt and yoga pants. No, sister dearest. I’ll be sure to change.” I do have to wonder, though, what I can wear to put myself on par with Mel. So I guess it’s a competition after all. “Make yourself at home,” I tell her. “Cavin should be here soon. Eli and Kayla are downstairs if you want to say hello, but I’d be sure to knock if they’re in his room. And be prepared. She’s rather tenuous right now, with school just around the corner.”
“Well, at least she’s planning to go.”
“Looks that way, but she still has time to change her mind.”
“She wouldn’t dare!”
“That’s what I keep telling her.”
Back in my room, I comb the closet for something sexy as hell, with the caveat that it has to cover my knees, one of which is still slightly swollen around small, silvering scars. I settle on a gorgeous silk sheath that falls just beneath the blemishes, unable to forget that the last time I wore it was with Jordan. The day I married him, in fact. Some women might toss a dress with such memories attached, but all that would do is allow the offender control. I try it on and am pleased to find it still fits, if a bit more snugly than it used to.
I’ve gained curves.
Plus a couple of pounds .
Who asked you?
In the shower, I go ahead and shave so the skin I’m able to reveal will, at the very least, be hairless, and it strikes me that I’ve become less obsessive about things like perfectly smooth legs. Am I too relaxed? Too settled in a comfort zone? I’ve survived—and thrived—by keeping my guard up. The last thing I want is to become complacent. Complacency is a control death knell.
As I’m putting the finishing touches on my makeup, Cavin comes in to let me know he’s home. I finish with the mascara, look up at him in the mirror, and he whistles. “Stunning. But you’ve got me wondering exactly who you’re looking so gorgeous for. Your sister?”
“You are kid—” Okay, he is kidding, at least that’s what his goofy grin indicates. “Well, if the right waiter happens along . . .”
He sidles up behind me, wraps me in his arms, and rests his chin on my shoulder. “I’m not worried. You’re not that generous of a tipper.” He kisses my neck. “I’ll wait up for you.”
“We could be late.”
“That’s okay. If I’m asleep, wake me. No matter how comfortable I might appear. Deal?”
Goddamn straight. “Deal. Now I’ve got to get dressed. Go entertain Melody, would you, please?”
“Your wish is my command. Oh, by the way, she’s looking great, don’t you think? Turning forty seems to become her.”
“Yeah, well, on the outside, anyway.”
We leave it there. I slip into my chosen dress, which would look a lot better with heels, but I’m not going to chance them yet. It’s still warm enough for sandals, so I pick a pretty pair instead. My new opal pendant is the finishing touch, drawing just the right amount of attention to the sheath’s deep neckline. The mirror confirms it’s a good look—enticing but classy.
As I exit my room, laughter drifts up the hallway. It’s a warm blend of Cavin’s and Mel’s and I wonder what sparked it. Whatever it was has engaged them completely. They don’t notice my approach, and as I near, I’m more than a little surprised to see how close they’re sitting. Mel’s bare knee, in fact, rests against Cavin’s clothed one.
A jolt of jealousy momentarily stuns me. I stay frozen in place, not wanting to interrupt them. Where is this going? Anywhere at all?
Nonconfrontation? So not you.
As luck would have it, confrontation is delivered via another source. Kayla crests the stairs from the lower level. “Jesus, Mom, what are you wearing?”
Melody jerks her attention away from my husband, disengages her knee from his. “Oh, look, it’s my darling daughter. Nice of you to offer me five minutes of your precious time.”
“You wanted me to put on clothes, didn’t you?”
Mel ignores Kayla’s nasty tone. “I suppose that was a good thing. But why do you care what I’m wearing?”
“I don’t, really. It’s just your outfit is not very . . . momlike.”
It certainly isn’t. And her flirtation with my husband wasn’t exactly sisterlike. But I can either let that bother me all evening or chalk it up to inexperience as a desirable woman. She never really learned how to play the singles game, not that she’s actually single.
Yet. And neither is your husband.
I clear my throat, announcing my presence. Cavin stands, discomfort evident in his expression, and comes over to tell me, “You look beautiful. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that dress before.”
“Well, now you have.” Tepid.
He notices. “Everything okay?”
I look him straight in the eye. “As far as I know. Except we’ll be late if we don’t go.”
Mel rises, but it’s an awkward exercise in unfamiliar heels and a mini she’s not used to wearing.
Cavin wisely avoids observing.
Kayla rewards the effort with a serious scowl. “So much for five minutes of my precious time. Did you have something you needed to tell me?”
Mel toddles over to give her a hug. “That’s all I wanted, and it would’ve been awfully rude of me not to attempt communication, don’t you think? I haven’t seen very much of you in months now.”
“Get used to it.”
Wow. Kayla’s all attitude considering the only possible thing saying hello to her mom could’ve interrupted was getting laid or getting high.
“Why don’t you
show your mother a little respect?” I ask.
Kayla glares. “Respect, like trust, needs to be cultivated.”
“No,” I correct. “Sometimes respect is simply owed, along with thanks.”
She starts to say something. Shuts her mouth. Then, “Sorry, Mom. Hope I see you before you leave tomorrow.”
Mel smiles. “You’re welcome, and you will. But tonight, it’s all about Ricky. I can’t believe I get to see him. He’s hot!”
Kayla rolls her eyes. “Seriously, Mother?”
Cavin grins, amused.
I am anything but, and push my sister toward the door. “Come on.”
I’m glad it’s a short ten minutes to Stateline. I spend the first of it silently glaring out the window, contemplating my relationships with the closest members of my extremely small family. I’ve always felt rather possessive of Melody—a by-product of our mother’s emotional and often physical distance. But how does she feel about me?
As for Kayla, it’s terribly hard to measure the depth of her feelings for anyone. Except, maybe, Eli, and she’s way overboard there. What about loyalty to her parents? Her siblings? Me? Most of the time all I see is selfishness, but every now and again I get a glimpse of something deeper. A need for connection, perhaps?
Considering the only other teenager I’ve spent much time around is Eli, I have to wonder if egocentrism isn’t the driving factor to adolescence. A way to survive those god-awful years.
It definitely was for you.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Mel interrupts my reverie.
“Just considering family dynamics.”
“What about them?”
I consider how to answer. “Do you think dysfunction is the new ‘normal’?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I think ‘normal’ is a subjective word. Oh, here we are. Where should I park?”
“Valet, of course. It’s the only way to go.”
It’s a decent hike across the casino floor to the Sage Room. We arrive five minutes past our reserved time, but the maître d’ is accommodating and seats us with a respectful smile. As always, the food proves to be topflight, though we both order lighter than we have in the past. Brad, the waiter, is, in fact, rather nice to look at, and when he’s totally out of earshot, I tease Mel, “He might be fun for a little fling.”
A Sin Such as This Page 17
